![]() She didn’t recognise the name, although it had a vaguely familiar ring to it, but everything about the letter was suspicious-not least the fact that Seth Carrington wrote like a man used to dictating letters and having them typed immaculately for him. ‘Call me if you are interested.’ It was signed in the same aggressive script: ‘Seth Carrington’.ĭaisy looked back at the telephone. ‘I will be in London from May 19,’ the letter had concluded curtly, with the name and telephone number of one of London’s most exclusive hotels. ‘.your name given to me by a mutual acquaintance.believe you might be interested in a proposition I have in mind.someone of your talents and discretion required for a forthcoming trip to the Caribbean.’ Daisy’s eyes skimmed the letter again, although she knew it by heart, and stopped at that tantalising mention of the Caribbean, just as they had done when she’d first ripped open the envelope-before she had realised that it wasn’t addressed to her at all. ![]() ![]() It was short and enigmatic, the bold black scrawl thrusting itself across the page as if the writer was used to expressing himself in a blunter, less elusive style. Daisy chewed her bottom lip as she looked from the telephone to the letter in her hand. ![]()
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